


It's Just Lunch

by orange_panic_archive



Series: Let Me Count The Ways [4]
Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Awkward Dates, Blind Date, F/M, Falling In Love, Feels, Fluff, Matchmaking, Non-Canon Relationship, Not Canon Compliant, Self-Denial, Slow Build, ok a lot of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29025870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orange_panic_archive/pseuds/orange_panic_archive
Summary: Matchmaker! offers the full suite of dating services, including guaranteed dates with elite and vetted Republic City singles perfectly matched to their client's requirements. But what if Iroh's match turns out to be someone he can't be with at all?Modernish AU.
Relationships: Iroh II (Avatar)/Original Female Character(s), Iroh II/Asami Sato, Iroh II/Opal (Avatar)
Series: Let Me Count The Ways [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2165019
Comments: 34
Kudos: 21





	1. It's Just Lunch

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Legend of Korra or anything in it.
> 
> Sort-of-modern AU set in Republic City but selectively ignoring almost all of the actual plot of LoK. None of this is canon, including everyone's ages. I'm guessing Iroh is in his early 30s; Opal, Bolin, and Korra their early to mid-20s; and Asami and Mako somewhere in-between. Tagged a few things because Iroh goes on a lot of dates but endgame Irohsami. And what do you even call Iroh/Opal? Iropal? Oproh?
> 
> This started as a fluffy one-shot, then took a more serious path as the story unfolded. As always, comments welcome.

Iroh tilted his head up and to the left, then checked the other side. Everything seemed to be in order. No missed spots or errant dabs of shaving cream. He reached a hand up and poked at his hair. He’d probably used too much product, but at least it stayed in place. He wished there was something he could do about his eyebrows though. Why did he have so much in the way of eyebrows? Would he look better with less, or just weird?

Iroh turned away from the mirror with a sigh. He was probably overthinking this. It was just lunch. 

He’d decided to forgo the uniform, instead donning a dark red jacket and vest with a soft cream-colored shirt and a thin tie of deep gold. They were still United Forces colors, but Iroh had gotten to the point where he thought he looked odd any other way. It wasn’t lost on him that this might be one reason he was paying for a dating service. Sometimes he got the feeling that he was a little too set in his ways.

Iroh turned in a slow circle, quickly straightened his tie, then made himself walk back out into the restaurant. If he was going to pay 2,000 yuans for a handful of dates, he couldn’t very well spend the entire time hiding in the bathroom. He was already here, and this was as good as he was going to look. Best get it over with. 

He scanned the little restaurant, a quiet bistro on the edges of Uptown that had been selected for them. This was the worst part. Iroh hated both guessing and meeting new people, and here he was left to guess which was the new person he was supposed to meet. He hadn’t been given any information on who his date was besides a name. He’d tried to be open-minded during his interview with Matchmaker!, too, going on the theory that the failure of his usual strategy was why he was engaging them in the first place. But that meant that Iroh could be meeting almost anyone. 

He searched the various tables carefully, looking for a woman alone who seemed to be expecting someone. There was only one that he could see, off in the back to the right by the window. Her back was to him, so all that he could really see was her shoulder-length brown hair. Iroh took a deep breath. _You can do this,_ he told himself. Dating while deployed almost constantly had been so hard that Iroh had eventually stopped trying. But now that he was to be stationed in Republic City for the next two years, perhaps he had slightly more to offer someone. Spirits, he’d been on enough dates in his life, even if it had been a while. He wasn’t hopeless. Just rusty. 

With as much confidence as he could muster Iroh strode towards the table in the back. _Hello, Miss Sato? I’m General Iroh._ Too formal? _I’m Iroh. Pleased to meet you. May I sit?_ Should he compliment her looks? _That’s a lovely color on you._ Or was that too forward and likely to make her uncomfortable? Perhaps something more neutral. _Have you been here before? I’ve heard that they have nice salads._ Seriously, nice salads? Was that really the best he had these days? Iroh silently rehearsed in his head, the knot in the pit of his stomach winding tighter and tighter as he approached. 

“Miss Sato?” he spit out when he was a foot from the table. “Um, hi. I’m, ah, Gen—er, I mean, Iroh. Were you looking for—”

The woman turned. She appeared to be in her late 40s or early 50s and had a plump, matronly look. She gave Iroh a confused sort of smile. “Can I help you?”

Iroh swallowed hard. He hadn’t rehearsed for this. “Er…” he said lamely.

“I think you have the wrong table, sweetie,” said the woman. It was only then that he noticed her thick gold wedding band. 

“Right.” Iroh fled. 

Maybe it just wasn’t the right time for him. He’d call Matchmaker! as soon as he got back to his ship, tell them to apologize profusely to his lunch date, and see if he could get some kind of refund. Then he could start small. Dress well, spend time with friends, lurk at the edges of cocktail parties. Test the waters. See if some gorgeous woman might simply come up to him and say, “My, what a handsome man you are, would you like to go have sex now?” in a way that would be completely unambiguous. Iroh didn’t mind putting in the effort once he was seeing someone. In fact, he quite liked dating, though life in the United Forces had never made it easy. It was just the first part that bothered him, the part where he had to think of what to say and how to act in order to get someone to like him, all the while trying to figure out if he liked them in return. Which, of course, was why he’d opted for the dating service in the first place.

He shoved open the door of the restaurant, his face burning with embarrassment. There was a thump and a cry as it slammed into someone on the other side.

Iroh swore under his breath. Just his luck, on top of being the world’s biggest coward he’d probably bowled over some poor old lady on his way out. He hoped he hadn’t actually hurt anyone. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said quickly, ducking around the door and kneeling. “Are you all…” Iroh trailed off. 

The woman on the ground was, quite simply, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life. She was dressed in a simple gray suit over a maroon shirt, her long black hair falling in waves around her porcelain face. She seemed to be a few years younger than he was, though her makeup had at first glance made her look older. Thankfully she didn’t appear hurt, but the contents of her heavy black shoulder bag now littered the sidewalk. 

“... all right,” he finished. His mouth was a little dry. She scowled up at him, her green eyes flashing. Even her scowl was pretty. 

“Watch where you’re going,” she said, sitting up and rubbing her thigh. She got to her knees and started picking up the contents of her bag. 

Iroh started to help, not thinking. “I’m sorry,” he said again, not having any better idea of what to say. He gathered a few papers together, stacked them neatly and handed them to her, then shuffled over and grabbed a few more. She had an awful lot of papers, and, though he was trying to respect her privacy, he noticed that they were a combination of typed documents and what seemed like mechanical drawings. Then he picked up a small metal cylinder that looked something like a giant screw. “Don’t forget your… um… thingy,” he said, and held it out. “I hope there’s no damage to it.”

“Sparkplug,” she said, snatching it. She still seemed angry. Of course the prettiest girl in the world already hated him. Her bag mostly re-packed she stood, dusting off her skirt. She reached back into her bag, grabbed a small gold compact, and checked her makeup. Iroh noticed it was monogrammed. A.S.

“Asami Sato?” he said, not quite believing it.

The woman looked up. “Don’t get any ideas about lawsuits. Neither of us are hurt, and it was clearly your fault. I’ll bury you.”

Iroh blinked, confused. “No? I mean, no. That’s not… I’m Iroh. I believe… were we meeting here?”

Asami Sato narrowed her eyes. “You’re Iroh?”

Iroh nodded. 

She gave him a slow, appraising look. “If you’re the one I’m supposed to be meeting for lunch, why did you knock me down on your way _out_ of the restaurant?”

“I… um… I didn’t….” 

“You were ditching me, weren’t you? I cut a Board meeting short to fit this lunch in, and you were going to stand me up?” 

“No! I just didn’t… I didn’t see you, and—”

Asami looked at her slim gold watch. “I’m not _that_ late.” 

Iroh made himself slow down. He took a deep breath, then held out his hand. “May I start over? Hello, I’m Iroh. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

She smiled a little at that, then took his hand. She gave it a brisk pump. “Hello, Iroh. Asami Sato.” She dropped his hand and rubbed her leg again. “I suppose I’m pleased to meet you, too.”

Iroh found himself returning her smile. He gestured to the door. “How about I buy you lunch in compensation for knocking you over while I tried to run away from my first date in over a year?”

Asami laughed. Spirits, she had a beautiful laugh. “Deal,” she said. “It’s been a while for me, too. We already paid Matchmaker!, so we may as well get the practice, right? And I hear this place has nice salads.”

Iroh’s smile broadened. He pulled open the door and gave her a little bow. “After you.”


	2. Every Good General Recognizes Defeat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, decided to keep going because these turned out to be really fun to write.

She tipped her chin up and smiled at him expectantly. Iroh leaned down and her lips puckered slightly. He planted a chaste kiss on her right cheek instead. 

“Goodnight, Miss Adi,” he said. 

Her golden eyes glinted in the dim light. “Wanna come in for a drink?”

For a half second Iroh almost did it anyway. Spirits, it had been so long. But that would hardly be right. He didn’t have much interest in seeing Adi again. That should probably rule out sleeping with her. Probably. 

He made a point of looking at his watch. “I’m afraid I can’t. I have an early start tomorrow and need to get going.”

“Oh, come on, Iroh. It’s not even late.” She took a small step forward until their chests were almost touching. 

_ Walk away while you still have some honor, Iroh, _ he told himself.  _ You’re not that desperate. Yet. _

“I’m sorry,” he said aloud. “Thank you for the match though. Pro-bending is certainly… vigorous.” 

“Another time, then.” Adi flashed him a slanted smile, seemingly oblivious to his dismissal. “I’ll even show you the championship trophy.” 

“Erm, of course,” Iroh said. “Goodnight.” He strode briskly back down the walk, not trusting himself to refuse her a third time. Which, of course, had been largely the problem. The young captain of the Red Sands Rabaroos had unilaterally changed their pre-arranged lunch date into two tickets to the evening Moose Lions - Catagators game. She’d ordered for him at the food stand (a plate of overpriced, runny nachos and a beer) before stepping back to let him pay, told him who to cheer for (Catagators), insisted that he walk her home after, and had just now clearly expected him to kiss her. Iroh wasn’t sure he’d gotten more than three words in the entire evening, let alone been listened to when he did. He liked strong, confident, successful women who had their own opinions, but there were limits. Iroh had spent quite enough of his life taking orders.

He turned onto the main street and, not seeing any cabs, started walking. It was a nice evening, and after a few minutes he stopped looking for a ride and simply enjoyed the night. He hadn’t precisely been lying to Adi, everything in the United Forces started early, but Iroh was still living in temporary housing and there wasn’t much waiting for him there, either. Adi lived on the edges of downtown, understandably keeping close to the pro-bending arena and its training facilities, so it wouldn’t be more than two miles or so. All of a sudden a long, quiet walk to decompress after the frenetic chaos of the pro-bending match sounded perfect.

Before long Iroh found himself walking along a crowded street lined with bars, restaurants, and outdoor cafes. After another block a temporary wooden barrier blocked the flow of traffic entirely, and soon the street itself was thronged with pedestrians. Couples and groups clustered in doorways or around tables, laughing and drinking and holding hands. A long zigzag of string lights had been hung between the brick buildings, casting the area in a warm yellow glow. The whole effect made Iroh smile. He loved being at sea, but sometimes land could be just as beautiful.

He started scanning the crowds as he passed, interested. He’d always liked people-watching, and was still new to Republic City. The first thing Iroh noticed was that he probably needed to go shopping. His own outfit, though nice, clearly skewed towards the older end of the crowd. Looking older than he was had been an advantage in the Forces, where most generals had quite a bit of gray hair, but it wouldn’t help land him a date off-duty. He didn’t need to look twenty, but he didn’t want people thinking he was forty, either.

Iroh’s gaze fixed on a young man in a slim brown suit crossing the street. He was tall and thin, his chocolate hair styled fashionably into a kind of forward spike that resembled the prow of a ship. Instead of a tie, he’d draped a long red scarf around his shoulders. It was a nice effect, toning down the formality of the suit while losing none of the elegance. Iroh took a mental note. The man was about his own height and, while a bit thinner, had a somewhat similar build. Something like that, then. Though perhaps not brown. 

He then turned his attention to watching the women. There was no harm in looking, right? So far, Iroh’s adventures with Matchmaker! had been a bust. There were five more matches left in his package of ten arranged dates, but he was already fairly certain he wouldn’t renew the service. It had been good in that it had forced him back onto the market, but now that he was a little more comfortable it didn’t seem worth the cost.

His eyes settled on a young woman alone at a small table at one of the outdoor cafes. Whether by accident or design she’d maneuvered almost directly under one of the streetlights and was using the position to read a book despite the late hour. The soft white light shone on her jet black hair, making it look like she was under a spotlight. Iroh chuckled to himself. It looked like something he would do. He’d never liked eating alone, but often found books better company than most people.

A shadow fell over her, and she looked up. Iroh realized with a start that he recognized her. Asami Sato, the woman he’d gone on his very first Matchmaker! date with a few months ago. They had wound up having a nice time after their initial awkward meeting, or so he’d thought, and of all the dates he’d been on Asami had been the only one with whom he’d felt any real chemistry. But when he’d checked in with Matchmaker! the following day he’d learned that she hadn’t matched him back. Iroh had been both surprised and disappointed, but had tried to take the news in stride. After all, he could hardly expect instant success.

The young man in the brown suit and red scarf rested a hand on her back, then leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. Asami smiled, marked her place in the book, and stowed it in her big black handbag. Iroh turned away as the other man pulled out the chair opposite her. Of course. She hadn’t been eating alone. A woman like that wouldn’t have to. She’d only been waiting.

Iroh continued down the street, trying to ignore the slight tightness in his chest. Was he really jealous of some stranger? The whole thing was silly. 

Still, it couldn’t hurt to pick up a few new suits. 


	3. Negotiations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bumped up the rating a little because of swearing and where this is heading.

“I need you to clear your schedule for today, General,” Tin Hua said without preamble. “You’re needed in negotiations.”

Iroh bristled. He’d known this was coming, and had already moved everything critical, but that didn’t make it any better. 

“It’s not my job to backstop Acquisitions every time a company plays hardball,” he said. “If you can’t close the deal with Future Industries, it’s your head, not mine. I can’t keep doing this.”

The little accountant narrowed his eyes. “There’s no need for an attitude, General. This comes straight from Raiko. He seems to believe it’s _your_ head if the United Forces loses a war because it has fifteen-year-old equipment.”

“Why can’t you just hire a negotiator for the department?” Iroh sighed. It wasn’t the first time he’d asked this. “My job is to secure peace, not contracts.”

“You secure what Raiko tells you to secure,” said Tin Hua. He pulled the manilla folder out from underneath his arm and dropped it on top of Iroh’s desk. “Unfortunately for you, you’re good at it.” He started walking out the door.

“And what if I can’t?” Iroh asked. He didn’t know the first thing about the Future Industries deal besides that it was both important and expensive. 

The head of United Forces Acquisitions turned back, then reached up and adjusted his glasses. “Just take the fucking hill, Iroh,” he said. “See you in an hour.”

***

Iroh sat in the middle of the long mahogany conference table and tried not to fidget. Ever since he’d landed back at headquarters he’d been increasingly brought to various negotiations and other tense situations. It seemed he had a talent for diplomacy, and both looked and sounded sufficiently important enough to generally tip things in the United Forces’ favor. Here, his naturally taciturn nature was an advantage, as his refusal to mince words or get sidetracked made him a formidable “bad cop.” It didn’t make Iroh like it any better though. He found the meetings exhausting, the people both shallow and draining, and the assault on his own carefully-managed schedule offensive. But, orders were orders.

The far door opened and four people entered the conference room. Iroh stood, as did Tin Hua and the other United Forces representatives from Acquisitions, Contracts, and Legal. 

“Welcome,” Tin Hua said. He then proceeded to make introductions. Iroh, however, had stopped listening. A fifth person had entered the room. She was tall and slim, and dressed in a dark gray business suit. She’d pulled her hair back from her pale face into a loose tail today, but he’d know her anywhere. 

Asami Sato.

Of course. The fact that the CEO herself was attending hadn’t been in the briefing, but why would it? Iroh bet his name hadn’t been there, either. Sensing an impasse, at the last minute the United Forces had wheeled in their big guns. It seems like Future Industries must have done likewise.

Asami smiled as their eyes met and gave him a slight nod of recognition. _Good,_ Iroh thought, _at least we aren’t going to play that game._ He returned both the smile and the nod, trying with every fiber of his being not to blush. After all, there was no reason to be embarrassed. They were both adults. It had been one lunch date, and months ago at that. And if he still thought her gorgeous, well, probably everyone thought that. It didn’t have to mean anything, nor get in the way of their being professional.

Asami folded herself into the chair directly opposite him and set a sleek black folio on the table. Her long red nails flicked it open.

“It’s nice to see you again, General Iroh,” she said, a slight smile still playing on her lips. No one asked how they knew each other, but presumably it wasn’t all that hard to believe they’d previously met. “I admit that I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Likewise,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. “But it’s a pleasant surprise.” 

She really was absurdly pretty. Perhaps that was the negotiating tactic? Walk in a beauty with big green eyes and long legs and hope your adversaries on the other side of the table were suckered in? A quick glance to the side confirmed that both Tin Hua and the bald man from Legal were leaning on the table, as if pulled in her direction by a magnet. 

Iroh decided abruptly that he wasn’t going to fall for it. If Asami had been brought in for her looks, he’d simply have to ignore them. He was a general and he’d been given an objective. _Take the hill,_ Tin Hua had said, and take it he would, all the beautiful women in the world be damned.

***

Three hours in, it was clear to Iroh that he’d been wrong. Asami Sato had not been brought in because of her looks. She’d been brought in because she was fucking terrifying. 

“Yes, you could buy something called a tank from Varrick Industries, and it would cost you 15% less than Future Industries charges ex works.” She leaned back in her chair, her pale green eyes never leaving his. “You could also stack 250 million yuans on this conference table and bend them on fire, General. It would be the same result either way.”

“It would,” Iroh shot back. “Either way, Future Industries would be out 250 million yuans which, last I checked, is about a quarter of your annual revenue. Speaking of fire, who will fire you faster, your shareholders or your Board?” 

Asami didn’t so much as flinch. “And when our troops die because they had faulty weaponry, which of you gets to call their mothers to explain that the United Forces Acquisitions department has a cost deviation rule with no quality assurance component for durable goods? Is it you, General?” 

That cut a little close to home. Iroh was at heart a pragmatist, and he’d never himself accept some bit of bureaucratic minutiae as sufficient reason for sacrificing even one soldier’s life. “Ms. Sato,” he said, his voice hard, “I can assure you that if I have to make those calls, my first one will be to the _Republic City Press_ to tell them how Future Industries used a near monopoly on the heavy weapons market to price gouge war heroes.”

“The government isn’t a charity,” Asami snapped. Two faint spots of color appeared on her cheeks. “And neither is Future Industries. The United Forces is a customer, not a special snowflake. If you’re short on funds, cut President Raiko’s parade budget.”

Tin Hua abruptly stood. “My apologies, ladies and gentlemen, but I see lunch is ready in the room across the way.” He gave them all a bland, unconvincing look. “I’m thrilled with the progress we’re making. We’ll pick this up in an hour.” There was the sound of shuffling papers and squeaking furniture as the others got to their feet. Iroh noticed Asami was still seated though, and was taking her time stowing her papers inside her folio. 

He started to stand himself, but Tin Hua leaned down and caught his shoulder. “I’ve saved a small table for you and Ms. Sato in the back,” he whispered into his ear. “I don’t care what you do. Charm her, poison her, I don’t care. We need this deal.” Iroh frowned, but the other man was already walking away. He sighed, stacked his own papers neatly, then stood.

“General?” said a voice. Iroh looked up to realize that he and Asami were the only ones left in the room. She was standing in front of the door. As he watched she closed it softly behind her.

“Yes?” Iroh felt his pulse quicken involuntarily. It seemed he’d been wrong about his ability to ignore her, too.

She walked towards him, straight-backed and confident. Then something seemed to change, to relax slightly. “Can I get five minutes of rationality before we go back in the shark tank?” she asked. 

He let out a short laugh. “Be my guest. I forgot to ask what was on the lunch menu, but good guess it’s us.”

Asami walked over and sat on the edge of the table. She kicked her legs a bit, black heels catching the shine of the overhead fluorescents in little flashes. Iroh tried very hard not to look at her legs and largely failed. “Cards on the table,” she said, drawing his eyes back up to her face. “How are we going to make this work?” Her tone was conversational, as if they were discussing what to order for lunch instead of millions of yuans. 

“You’ve heard our terms.”

“I’ve heard your lawyer’s terms. What are yours?”

Iroh thought for a moment. “Don’t make me do anything illegal? I can’t change the regulations, Ms. Sato. We have a cost-plus 25% cap. It’s non-negotiable.” 

“Which isn’t ideal, but is reasonable. What’s not reasonable is benchmarking our production costs to Varrick Industries. Varrick makes gilded shit, he doesn’t invest in research, and you know it. Otherwise it’d be him sitting on your table, not me.”

Iroh rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “What if we didn’t? If you open your books and prove your actual costs, and we buy at cost plus 25% markup.” 

Asami’s brows knit together. He thought it made her look very cute. “We can’t open our books.”

He leaned slightly against the table and flashed her a smile. “Why, do you have something to hide?”

The corner of her dark lips twitched. “That’s rich coming from the military.”

Iroh chuckled. “No comment. What if we do it on contract? Full confidentiality. I can even manage it myself if you’d like.” 

Asami looked thoughtful. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.” She hopped off the table and turned to face him. “It’s a start.” She gave him a little sideways smile and cocked her head. “See? We accomplished more in a few minutes of normal talk than in all that boneheaded posturing.” 

“If only we were in charge,” Iroh said. 

She laughed at that. “Don’t tell me, you’re really three little men in a trench coat?”

He bowed slightly. “The very same.”

“Well, I’ve been accused of being a robot, so I suppose we’re well-matched.”

“For what it’s worth,” Iroh said, taking a step towards her, “your posturing is very intimidating.” 

Asami met his gaze steadily. “You’re not so bad yourself. It’s nice to cross swords with someone with a brain.”

“I’ve always liked brains,” Iroh said. Then he kicked himself. _What are you, a zombie? What the hell kind of comment is that?_

But Asami only laughed again. “Me, too.” Her eyes never left his. 

Wait. Were they… _flirting?_

Iroh felt his face grow hot. “I think we’re expected in the other room.”

“Yes,” Asami said. She didn’t move. He was so close to her now he could see the faint fluttering of the pulse in her neck. A single diamond flashed at the base of her white throat. Iroh followed her skin down with his eyes to where it met the pearl buttons of her shirt, then made himself stop. He could smell faint perfume, something light and fresh that reminded him of a summer garden. 

“Have dinner with me,” Iroh blurted.

Asami flinched. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t.”

Iroh took a quick step back. “I apologize Ms. Sato. That was incredibly unprofessional of me. I hope that I didn’t make you uncomfortable.” Spirits, what was he thinking? Asami had already turned him down once, and he’d seen her with that other man besides. Not to mention that they were in the middle of a day-long meeting.

But she was shaking her head. “No, I mean I can’t. It’s a conflict of interest, Iroh. For you. That’s why I didn’t want to see you again after our lunch date. I realized who you were and what it meant.”

“I don’t understand.” What conflict was there? He was single, and she wasn’t in his chain of command.

“With any luck, Future Industries is about to become one of the United Forces’ biggest vendors,” Asami said. “This deal has been in the works for months. Their top general can’t date the company CEO. Intent doesn’t matter. It violates fair sourcing rules.”

Ah. That made a certain amount of sense. And moreover, he was sure she was right. Asami impressed him as someone who did her research. 

“I do like you, Iroh,” she said quietly. She looked at her feet, her thick lashes momentarily hiding her eyes. He felt something in his chest constrict. “But I need this contract. So do you.”

“I understand.” Iroh glanced at the long glass wall of the conference room, suddenly realizing that, while they couldn’t be heard, they were still being observed. He took another step backwards and did his best to sound cheery. “How about I take you to lunch instead?” He nodded his head towards the door. “United Forces’ finest catering, my treat.” 

Asami snorted a little. Iroh tried to ignore the way it made her nose crinkle. “Finally, a proposal I can agree to,” she said. Her gaze found him again, and though she was smiling, her expression was a little sad. “Shall we?”

“Of course.”


	4. A Losing Battle

Iroh adjusted his collar slightly. _There._ He turned, then nodded. Everything in his reflection was neat and straight, his red and white uniform—the nicer of the two—freshly pressed. He’d gotten up early and, after a quick workout, had polished his tall black boots to a mirror shine. Iroh bent his head a little and sighed. He’d experimented with several new hairstyles over the past month, but his hair was so thick that all he seemed to be able to do was either slick it back or let it run wild. Wearing it in one of those little spiked prows was simply out of the question. 

Still, there was nothing wrong with what he had. Iroh examined himself in the mirror. He actually thought he looked pretty good, hairstyle included. His eyes fell on his left breast. Should he pin on his medals today? He didn’t usually wear them to headquarters, but he wasn’t going to be in the office most of the day. Something to consider, then. He reached for his bottle of cologne, then stopped himself. _Iroh, what are you doing?_

He didn’t have a good answer to that. What _was_ he doing preening in the bathroom like a breeding peacock pigeon? 

Iroh sighed. Just because he didn’t have a good answer didn’t mean he didn’t have any answer at all. It was fairly obvious. Today was his second-to-last Matchmaker! lunch date, this time at an upscale rooftop cafe not too far from the United Forces building. He didn’t have incredibly high hopes, but one never knew with these things. Perhaps this date was finally the one he’d been looking for. Iroh, quite understandably, wanted to look his best. Even if it seemed he was being a bit silly. After all, it was still just lunch.

The fact that he was going out to Future Industries right afterwards had nothing to do with it.

***

The Future Industries manufacturing plant had clearly been designed to intimidate people. It rose up from the flat plain just to the south of the city in such a way that its four gray towers were visible several miles before they arrived. As Iroh pulled up to the gates, he noticed that it was less of a building than a whole complex, including what was probably a vehicle test track and several large warehouses.

“Looks a bit like a prison,” Shin said beside him. 

“I think it’s kind of pretty,” said Iroh. The square central complex was imposing, but there was an intentional elegance to it that he liked. Lots of clean, straight lines and grand arches. Strong, yet beautiful.

Asami Sato herself met them at the front of the main building. She’d traded her usual suit for some kind of dark purple and black coverall, the Future Industries half-gear logo clearly visible on both shoulders. It was clear it wasn’t for show, either. Iroh noticed a few smudges of what looked like grease on her outfit, as well as at least one burn mark. She’d pulled her long hair back into a thick braid. Her face seemed slightly flushed, too, as if she’d run part of the way there. Yet for all that, the CEO of Future Industries looked more relaxed than he’d ever seen her. It was slight, perhaps something in her posture, the set of her jaw, but he noticed it all the same. Iroh thought it made her look, if possible, even prettier.

Asami pulled off one thick gray glove as they approached and held out her hand. 

“General,” she said with a brisk nod. Iroh thought he caught the hint of a smile as they shook. His nose filled with the smell of engine oil and, just underneath, the same light perfume she’d been wearing the last time they’d met.

“Good to see you again, Ms. Sato,” he said, not hiding his own smile at all. He turned to his companion. “This is Shin. He’ll be working with you on understanding your production costs.”

She shook hands with Shin as well. He was a weedy little man who cared entirely too much about details, but word was he got the job done. “Come in, please,” Asami said. “I’ll introduce you to our accountant.” She flashed Iroh a quick smile. “Then I’ve got a nice stack of non-disclosure agreements just waiting for your signature. Fresh from my legal team and very, very enforceable.”

Iroh smirked. “I’d expect nothing less.”

The accountant turned out to be a tall, dour young man with the pale skin and light copper eyes of the Fire Nation. Unlike the CEO, he was dressed in plain business attire, with the exception of a red scarf that hung around his neck. He’d styled his short brown hair into exactly the kind of stylish little forward spike that Iroh himself had tried, and failed, to reproduce. Iroh also thought he looked vaguely familiar, too, but he couldn’t immediately place him. 

“This is Mako,” Asami said. “He does all our books.”

They shook. Mako seemed to grip his hand a little harder than necessary. “Sir.” Then he turned to Shin. “So, you’re the spy?”

“Can it, Mako,” said Asami sharply. 

The young man threw his arms up and turned to her. “He’s here to check my work!”

“Shin is here to help us close a deal. We have nothing to hide. And as soon as everyone signs the NDAs, you’re going to be as helpful as possible.”

Mako glowered, but said nothing further. Asami led them down a wide hallway, and Iroh found himself falling in beside the accountant.

“Have we met?” he asked. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d seen this guy somewhere before. 

“No.” 

“You’ve probably watched him in the arena,” called Asami, with considerably more warmth. “Mako is captain of the Fire Ferrets. I only get him part time.”

“The who?”

She turned and arched one slender eyebrow. “The pro-bending team?”

“They almost won the championship two years ago,” said Shin from behind him.

Iroh shrugged a little, trying not to be too embarrassed. He didn’t really follow pro-bending even in the best of times, and two years ago he’d been floating around somewhere near the South Pole. The only match he’d ever been to was on that disastrous date with the woman from the Rabaroos.

“I still have a lot to learn about Republic City,” he replied. He turned back to Mako, trying to ignore the disbelieving look Asami had given him. “You must be their firebender, then?”

“Yeah.” 

“I bend a little fire myself,” Iroh said. He heard Asami snort softly. “What? I may not play pro-bending, but I’ve had years of training. It’s saved my life more than I can count.” Spirits, he should have worn the medals after all.

“I don’t doubt you,” Asami said. “It’s just funny how all firebenders are a bit arrogant.”

“Hey!” Iroh and Mako said at the same time. They both looked at each other, then started laughing, the ice finally broken. 

***

Asami passed him a yellow hard hat, then pulled another down for herself. “We take no chances, General,” she said. Their both having nothing to contribute to Mako and Shin’s work once they got started, she’d offered to give him a tour of the factory instead. Iroh had happily accepted. It was, he told himself, important to understand how things were made. And if the CEO herself was taking the time to do so instead of handing him off to a subordinate, that hardly mattered. He would have found it interesting and enjoyable no matter what. Obviously.

Iroh put the hard hat on. It felt odd, and pinched a little in the front. He heard Asami laugh.

“Here,” she said, and reached up. She was quite tall, even in her flat boots. She picked the hat up and flipped it around, then settled it down on his head. “Works better when it’s not backwards.” Then she reached behind him, resting her arms against his shoulders, and turned some kind of ratchet to tighten the band. The action brought her face quite close to his. “How does that feel?” Asami asked.

“Good,” Iroh said. “Almost like it was meant to go there.”

Two spots of color rose on her cheeks and she pulled away. “Glad it fits,” she said, a bit brusquely. She put on her own hat and pushed open the door. “Follow me.” 

The factory turned out to be fascinating. Iroh didn’t know the first thing about mecha, and had never been in a facility like this before. The sheer scale of it was mind-boggling. Asami walked him from enormous room to enormous room, explaining what was being made on each line and more or less how. He found himself full of questions, and she answered them all easily. It was clear that she didn’t just run a multi-million dollar company, but was deeply knowledgeable about the technical side of the house. Iroh wasn’t sure he’d ever met someone so smart, either. Yet she never made him feel dumb, despite his obvious ignorance. If anything, she seemed energized by his genuine interest. 

After three solid hours together, Iroh was also convinced that he’d never been so attracted to someone in his life. It wasn’t just her looks, either. Asami was quick and witty and confident, and though they barely knew each other their conversation felt natural. Which was going to be a problem. Iroh _liked_ the CEO of Future Industries. Liked her quite a lot. But his job was to be the United Forces’ heavy hitter. Like she’d said herself, it was a conflict of interest. Even if they weren’t dating, he couldn’t let himself cut her any slack.

“That’s why it’s so important we build those costs into our sales,” Asami said. They were sitting on a low bench on the edge of the test track, the sunshine having been too tempting after so much time indoors. “If we didn’t, we’d never do any R&D. We couldn’t afford it. No research, no improvements. No new stuff. Nothing gets lighter, stronger, faster. And the United Forces would fall behind the rest of the world just as surely as if you’d bought nothing at all.”

“You’ve convinced me,” Iroh said. He meant it, too. Although she hadn’t been able to share future product ideas, he understood enough now to believe in what she was doing, and liked to think he would have whether he enjoyed her company or not.

Asami let out a short laugh. “Good. Let’s just hope Mako convinces Shin, too.” She turned a little and met his eyes. The motion swung her left leg out so that her knee just barely brushed his. Iroh froze. Surely she wasn’t even aware she was doing it, and moving away would only draw attention. 

He swallowed hard and suppressed a shiver. “We should get back to them, shouldn’t we?”

“Soon.” Asami glanced behind her at the wide factory doors. “Do you mind just sitting for a minute though? I feel like I’ve been going non-stop all day.”

“Not at all.” 

“Having such a large science division is a little selfish of me,” she said after a while. “That’s the part I like most, too. I can do the business stuff, but my heart is in the research. I expanded the program after I took over from my father, and I think it’s the best move for Future Industries. But, no offense to prospective clients, if all I had was management and sales I’d go crazy.”

“None taken,” Iroh said. “Not many people could even do both, let alone be excellent. The company is lucky to have you.”

Asami laughed and shook her head. “Flattery will get you no discounts, General.”

“Iroh,” he said quickly. “I introduced myself as Iroh.”

She leaned toward him a little. “Iroh, then.” His gaze settled on her lips. They were a deep cherry red today, and flawless. “Iroh.”

Her face came closer. Iroh leaned in to meet it. Something thunked against his head. 

“Oh!” Asami pulled back with a start, blushing furiously, one hand on her helmet. It took him a moment to realize what had happened. The hard hats. 

Iroh laughed nervously. That… that had almost been a kiss, he was sure of it. And not of his doing, either. Or at least, not all of it. 

Asami looked at her watch. “We should go.”

“Right,” he said, pushing himself up off the bench. It was definitely time to go. Time to drop off Shin, go home, and take the longest, coldest shower of his life.


	5. Detours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... don't quite know what happened to this story. I'm just as surprised as you, I swear.

“I’d always wished I could bend.” Iroh’s heart sank a little. He’d had some version of this conversation nearly every date. He wasn’t sure why Matchmaker! had set him up with so many non-benders. Not that he had a problem with that. He was just tired of propping up their egos.

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” Iroh said anyway, not wanting to miss his cue. His job now was to set her at ease. “But bending is only a tool. One talent among many.” 

The young woman across from him smiled. She had a nice smile, and though she wore no makeup that Iroh could see, he thought she was pretty all the same. Round green eyes, a pleasant, heart-shaped face, dark hair cut short in a fashionable bob that fluttered slightly in the light breeze. She was considerably younger than him, it was true, but not so young it was out of the question if they truly liked one another. He felt himself relax a little. He shouldn’t be so hard on her. All the non-benders seemed to have a little anxiety here, and Opal had said most of her siblings could bend. If she had a little baggage, well, it wasn’t like he didn’t, too. It was just different.

“Thanks for being open-minded about it,” she said. “You wouldn’t believe how many benders only want to date benders, you know?”

“That’s a bit outdated,” said Iroh. “And more than a little ridiculous.” He stabbed at his salad. “Being a bender is like being good at math. Some people are, some people aren’t, and that conveys some advantages and disadvantages. But the people who are don’t usually walk around saying, ‘Wow, I’m so good at math!’ It’s a part of who you are, nothing more.”

She laughed a little. “I get that. I’m pretty good at math. My father is Zaofu’s top engineer. But I don’t think about it at all unless I’m using it.”

“Exactly.” Good, now they were past that part at least. Iroh wasn’t being completely honest, of course. There was a lot to bending, and firebending had always been a big part of his life. The traditions, the mental components, the years of training. But now that he was stationed in Republic City, he didn’t use it for much more than exercise and making dinner, and had found himself minimizing this part of his identity. There wasn’t much use for a classically-trained firebender off the battlefield.

Iroh gave her what he hoped was a charming smile. “Does my being less good at math automatically disqualify me from further dates?”

“Nope. In fact, I’d say you’re on track to be highly qualified.” Opal took a demure sip of her mimosa. “I hope I’m allowed to say that? I know Matchmaker! makes a big deal about handling the follow up.”

“I’m a general. I’m always interested in field intelligence.” Iroh scuffed his feet a little under the table. This was good then. He’d been on a few subsequent dates with a handful of his Matchmaker! matches, but they’d all fizzled out. Opal was his last one, so it was good that they were both leaving the door open to more. He hadn’t felt a spark yet, not the way he had with… other people… but not everything was instant. 

They moved on to other topics. His time in the Forces, and some of the places he’d seen. Her family, her recent move to Republic City. After five months Iroh no longer felt quite so new, and it was fun to feel like he had some knowledge to share. It was also funny to see Opal jump a little every time a satomobile honked or a messenger bike whizzed by their table on the sidewalk—Zaofu was small and rather sleepy. Iroh remembered feeling the same way when he’d first arrived, staring up at the ceiling in his apartment at night and listening to the steady noise of traffic. Now, he noticed it no more than he did the lap of waves against a ship.

“Well, I should be getting back,” Opal said. She glanced around at the sun-drenched street. Nearly every cafe was packed with patrons all hoping to soak up the last of late summer. “It’s too bad these are always lunch dates. It’s so nice out. I wish I could order a glass of white wine and just sit until sunset instead of having to rush back to work.”

Iroh thought of the paperwork waiting for him back at his desk. “That definitely sounds preferable.”

“Maybe next time.”

“Sure.”

Iroh looked down at his empty plate. Opal was lovely. She was sweet and friendly, and they’d had a good time. They came from similar backgrounds and, despite the age difference, they seemed to have similar goals, too. The importance of service. Finding someone to bring home to meet their terrifying mothers. A committed relationship. Marriage, family. Maybe not right now, but some day. She seemed smart, too—perhaps not book-smart, but sharp, perceptive, and far from what he’d expected from the heiress to the Beifong fortune. So what was wrong with her? Or rather, what was wrong with him?

_ I do like you, Iroh, _ said a quiet voice in the back of his mind.  _ Iroh. _

The breeze suddenly picked up and Opal shivered. The weather had started turning only that week, and she’d clearly erred on the side of summer while dressing. He could see gooseflesh breaking out on her tan forearms.

Abruptly Iroh stood, then pulled his jacket off the back of his chair. “You seem cold,” he said, holding it out to her. “Please.”

Opal smiled gratefully. “Thanks. It’s a bit chillier than I expected.” Iroh stepped around and draped it over her shoulders.

“I’ll get the check,” he said.

***

Iroh found her lips again. Spirits, he’d forgotten how much he liked kissing. His hand tightened on Opal’s upper arm and he pulled her closer. He wished he had a mint or something though. She opened her mouth a little, giving him permission, and he felt her small hands on the back of his shirt. Suddenly he was very aware of her, of all of the places she was touching him. Her thigh next to his. Her nose on his cheek. Most importantly, the breast now pressed up against his arm. 

Now what? Iroh realized he had no idea what to do with his hands. One was still on Opal’s arm, but the other was just kind of hanging on the back of the couch. He knew what he wanted to do with it, but could he? How did the transition from just kissing to more than kissing work? Should he wait for her to say something, or just go for it? 

There was an excellent chance he was over-thinking this. 

Iroh let the hand on Opal’s arm drift up into her short hair. It was silky and soft. He’d always liked hair, the way it slid between his fingers. He pressed forward, slowly pushing her down towards the arm of the couch. Her chest pressed full against him and he felt a twitch below his belt. Spirits, he was going to have to be careful. It had been a very, very long time. 

He was more or less on top of her now, pinning her down on the dark green sofa. He hoped he wasn’t too heavy. Opal was fairly petite. Just to be safe, Iroh propped himself up a bit on one elbow. Opal trailed one hand up the back of his neck and pulled him back down into a deep kiss. He felt a gentle prod from her soft tongue. Okay, so tongues were okay. 

Slowly, Iroh brought his other hand down to rest on her stomach. She’d worn a long green dress on their date, the kind that zipped in the back, so there was nothing but smooth fabric. He inched his hand up as they kissed, finally cupping her breast. 

“Iroh,” she breathed. 

“Hmm?”

“Not… not yet.” He quickly removed his hand, then pushed himself up a little. Opal’s round green eyes stared up at him, her face flushed. “I’m not saying no,” she said. “Just… not yet.”

“Okay.” Iroh leaned back down to kiss her again. He kept his hands where they were.


	6. A Little Rain

Iroh hurried through the driving rain, one hand held over his head, silently kicking himself for not having looked at the forecast. The day had started sunny and clear, but by late-afternoon the sky had darkened into towering black clouds. He’d almost thought he was going to make it, but five minutes after leaving the office the sky opened up. Apparently autumn thunderstorms were a regular occurrence in Republic City, and nearly everyone else had known to carry an umbrella. Iroh, on the other hand, had no choice but to get soaked. 

He stumbled into the bar what felt like a lifetime later, his hair dripping in his face, shoes squelching. At first he didn’t see Opal and thought he might have beaten her here. Or perhaps he was supposed to be early? They’d gone on a few more dates, and things had progressed, but Iroh was finding that she had a lot of rules. When he could and couldn’t call her, and how often. When they could see one another, who should propose the date, and how much notice to give. What he could and couldn’t touch. And of course, how early to show up for activities. There was nothing wrong with setting boundaries, but Opal seemed to think what Iroh saw as her preferences were universal rules of engagement, and was somewhat put out that he didn’t know them already. 

Finally he spotted her down at the end of the bar. She still had her coat on, and was deep in conversation with the bartender, a stocky young man about her own age. She’d already ordered a drink, something bright yellow in a tall fluted glass. For a moment Iroh thought about ducking into the bathroom to dry off, pretending he hadn’t seen her. Then she looked over and waved.  _ All right,  _ he thought.  _ One sopping wet Iroh, coming right up. _

“You didn’t have an umbrella?” she said in greeting. A slim green umbrella rested against her leg. Opal was a planner.

“I missed the ocean,” said Iroh, attempting a joke. She didn’t smile. If anything, she seemed vaguely disappointed, as if he was somehow embarrassing her.

“Welcome to Team Avabar!” said the bartender. Iroh jumped a little. He hadn’t expected such enthusiasm. He looked over at the square-faced young man, whose big green eyes were now giving Iroh a once-over. “You look like you could use a drink. What can I get you, buddy?”

“Um.” Iroh looked down at his dripping outfit. His coat had taken the worst of the weather, but his pants below the knees were soaked. “I don’t suppose you have hot tea?”

“Iroh, this is a bar,” Opal said. “They don’t have tea.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he looked at the bartender, who was now rummaging through a bin on the back counter. He pulled out a battered lipton tea bag. “I have iced tea,” he said, holding it up. “That’s it.”

Iroh frowned a little. “Do you have hot water?”

“Yeah.”

“Hot tea is just hot water and a teabag. It’s just like iced tea, only hot.”

“Oh.” The bartender blinked. “Okay! Hot tea it is.” 

Iroh unbuttoned his coat, unsure if he should laugh or not. Instead he turned back to Opal. “I’m going to go try to make myself presentable. Save me a seat?” He draped his coat over the barstool next to her, and for the first time she smiled.

“Go for it.” 

Iroh made his way back down the bar towards where he’d seen the signs for the restrooms. He might not be able to do much about his collar or legs, but at least he could fix his hair. As approached, the door of Team Avabar sprang open. Two people rushed in. 

“I told you!” the man said, folding an umbrella and shaking it off. “One day you’re going to learn to listen to me.”

“Whatever,” the woman said irritably. “It’s just water.” She stamped her feet a little, her long black hair falling all around her face, then looked up. Iroh stopped in his tracks. Her green eyes found his and she broke into a smile that pierced his heart.

“Iroh!” Asami said brightly. She looked him slowly up and down, then burst out laughing. “Glad I’m not the only one who forgot an umbrella tonight.” Iroh felt the back of his neck prickle in embarrassment. She turned to the man next to her and shook one wet sleeve. “See, Mako? If a United Forces general doesn’t need one, then neither do I. We’re not afraid of a little rain.”

“Or you’re both crazy.” Something clicked into place. Mako. Iroh’s gaze flicked to the tall young man who’d walked in with Asami. He was still wearing his red scarf. Of course, that’s where Iroh had seen Future Industries’ bookkeeper before. He’d been meeting Asami for dinner that one night when he’d been walking downtown. And here he was again. This clearly wasn’t work, and by the looks of it they’d been sharing an umbrella. Of course.

“Nice to see you both,” Iroh said quickly. “Excuse me.” Brief hurt flashed across Asami’s face as he turned and walked down the hall to the restrooms.

Iroh took his time blotting his clothes with paper towels, trying to organize his thoughts. He didn’t know why he should be so disappointed. He and Asami weren’t together; they weren’t anything. Whatever attraction he felt, had always felt, was immaterial. And if it seemed sometimes that she felt the same way, there were very good reasons for neither of them to act on it. Besides, he was here with Opal; why shouldn’t Asami have a social life as well? Yet the fact remained that looking at her with Mako made Iroh’s whole body tense up. He felt like a coiled spring, ready at a moment’s notice to… what? Fight him? He had no idea. 

Iroh rubbed at his face. He had to get a grip. Perhaps tonight just wasn’t his night. He’d have a drink, then beg off and go home. Read a book, or maybe find one of those history documentaries he liked. Opal probably had other ideas, but he suddenly wasn’t in the mood. He’d had enough of people today.

He made his way back to the bar. Opal was once again talking with the bartender, who was now leaning one elbow on the counter, fully absorbed in their conversation. 

“And that’s when I—” He cut off mid-sentence as soon as he saw Iroh and pulled back. Then he turned around and grabbed a mug off the back counter. “Here you go!” he said, placing it on the bar and backing away. “Totally tea, all yours, yes sir.” 

“Thank you.” Iroh took the hot water and sad old tea bag and sat, unsure what to think of the man’s odd behavior. 

“Don’t stop, Bo,” said Opal. She looked at Iroh. “Bolin here has had quite the life. He’s a pro-bender! Team Avabar is only a side gig. He was just telling me about the year his team was in the championship, but they didn’t have the money for the tournament, so he went to go work for a  _ triad.” _ Opal whispered this last word, as if saying it aloud would somehow summon the gang. 

Iroh didn’t see anything particularly admirable about that, but his family was wealthy and he knew enough to keep his mouth shut. “Um. All right.”

“So what happened?” Opal asked. “You can’t leave me hanging.”

“Well,” Bolin seemed a bit nervous now that Iroh was back. “Some bad stuff happened and I didn’t get paid, but in the end it was okay, and my brother’s girlfriend’s dad decided to sponsor the team!” He nodded over to where Iroh was pointedly not looking at Asami and Mako. “That’s my brother there. We’re the Future Industries Fire Ferrets now!” 

_ My brother’s girlfriend. Future Industries. _

Iroh sipped his tea. It tasted like dirt. 


	7. The End of the Line

Iroh glanced out the window. It was already dark. He looked gloomily at the large stack of reports on his desk. When he’d taken the Republic City assignment, he’d somehow been under the impression that his job was to bolster the city’s defenses and update their training programs. Instead, he found himself spending nearly all of his time trying to keep pace with the overwhelming amount of paperwork that crossed his desk. Since Iroh would never in a million years authorize anything he didn’t understand, let alone sign a form he hadn’t read, he was pulling increasingly longer and longer days just to fit in any thinking time at all. 

He pulled off his reading glasses, leaned back in his chair, and massaged the bridge of his nose. He should probably just go home. At this point, he’d forget anything he read anyhow. He could pick it up after he had something to eat, or even over the weekend. As long as he finished up by Monday morning it shouldn’t make much difference. The one benefit of sailing a desk was that for the most part he got weekends off. More often than not these days he found himself working at least part of the time, but at least he could catch up a little.

Iroh reached for his stack of reports when there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” he called, carefully sliding them into an envelope and pushing them to the corner of his desk so he’d see them on his way out.

The door opened and Asami Sato popped her head in. “Am I interrupting? I saw the light was still on.”

Iroh got to his feet, taking the extra few seconds to compose himself before answering. He hadn’t even known she was in the building, let alone that she knew where his office was. “No, of course not. I was just finishing up. How may I help you?” 

She stepped in and closed the door behind her. “I just wanted to say thank you, Iroh.”

“Thank you? For what?” They hadn’t seen each other since that time at Team Avabar, and there they’d barely said hello.

Asami waved a thick white envelope and grinned. “We’re done,” she said. “Your consultant, Shin, he was excellent. Really knows his stuff. I was just up with Tin Hua, and he agrees with the findings. The deal you and I sketched out months ago, it’s finally going to happen.”

Iroh found himself smiling. “That’s wonderful. Congratulations, Asami.” 

She gave him a little curtsey. He tried not to watch the way her skirt pulled tight against her thigh. “It’s always a pleasure doing business with the brave men and women of the United Forces.” 

Iroh chuckled. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard anyone say that. I’m sorry that everything took as long as it did.”

“No, I mean it, Iroh,” she said, her voice more serious now. “Or at least you. You were honest, and you were fair. Not every client has been. I appreciate that more than you know.” 

“Don’t sell yourself short, Asami." He walked out from behind the desk to face her. "It’s your mecha, your company, and your deal. You earned every yuan. All I did was poke the paperwork.”

Asami stepped forward and set the report on his desk, then took both his hands in hers. Her fingers were cool and a little rough, and Iroh thought of the grease spots that had been on her coverall back at the factory. She looked up at him, her face pale and lovely and no longer laughing. 

“I hope this means you’ll have everything you need,” she said softly. Her lighthearted tone was gone. “I feel better knowing that when you head back out, you’ll be doing it with our mecha at your back and not some piece of crap.”

Iroh ran his thumbs slowly down the outsides of her palms in a slow circle, the touch sending tiny electric shockwaves deep into his gut. She didn’t pull away.

“Thank you, Asami. I appreciate that.” He didn’t know what else to say. He suddenly felt like he was drowning, though whether Asami’s light green eyes were the land or the sea he couldn’t tell. Perhaps that was the problem. They were both, and neither, and all he did was keep sinking. Why did she always do this to him?

Asami slowly pulled back her hands. Iroh let them go. “I guess I’ll be seeing you then,” she said.

There was another brisk knock at the door. It opened before Iroh could respond.

“Ah! There you are,” Tin Hua said. “Consorting with the enemy, I see.” He reached up to push his glasses up his nose and smiled blandly, then tipped Iroh a nod. “I trust she’s told you the good news? Future Industries is about to have the great pleasure of robbing us blind for the next five years. Have a nice weekend, General. Ms. Sato, I’ll walk you out.” 

Asami grabbed her report off his desk. “Goodbye, General,” she said. The door shut behind her with a soft click.

***

Iroh thought for a moment, then hopped up off the couch and walked to the little bar cart he kept in the corner. It didn’t count as drinking alone if he only had the one, and besides, it was Friday. A glass of his birthday scotch and a good book sounded like just the ticket. He didn’t have anything planned with Opal, and felt vaguely like maybe he should, but lately it had felt forced. It had been over two months now and they hadn’t yet had “the talk,” either. The truth was, Iroh didn’t really know what he was to her. Her boyfriend? The guy she was sleeping with? _A_ guy she was sleeping with? Opal was considerably more social than he was, and he honestly didn’t know what she was doing half the time. She saw him when she wanted to see him. Lately, that hadn’t been all that much. But then again, Iroh hadn’t exactly pushed.

He took a long pull from his scotch, trying not to think about it, and rested his tumbler on the coffee table. Then he sat back down on the couch and reached for his copy of _The Last Days of the Sun Warriors._ As he did, his eye fell on the thick white envelope he’d brought from the office. Iroh’s hand hovered over the book, then he picked up the envelope with a sigh. It wasn’t the most exciting Friday night, but if he could knock out a few of the reports that evening it would give him more time the rest of the weekend and he wouldn’t have to think about it. The Sun Warriors would still be there later.

He pulled out the first report.

Future Industries  
Production Cost Report - Welding Department  
Month Ended July 31

Iroh frowned. He hadn’t expected this in his inbox. All of Shin’s work had gone directly to Acquisitions. All he’d done was manage the contract. 

He set it down on the table, took another sip of his drink, and pulled out the next. _Future Industries Production Cost Report - Marketing and Finance Department._ Iroh felt his stomach drop. He looked at the next report. _Engineering._ The next. _Research and Design._ The next.

“Shit,” he muttered, thumbing through the stack. They were all like that. Every one.

Iroh had put his reports—his _classified_ reports—in an unmarked envelope on his desk. Now that he thought about it, Asami had come in with an envelope as well. She must have grabbed the wrong one when Tin Hua barged in. No matter how much he liked her, Asami Sato had no security clearance whatsoever. Iroh wasn’t even entirely sure that he was supposed to take the reports home with him, and had only been lax about it because he lived alone and rarely had visitors. Depending on what information was in that envelope, and what Asami decided to do with it, he could be more than just in trouble. He could wind up in prison.

Iroh stuffed the production reports back into the envelope, jumped off the couch, and grabbed his keys.


	8. It's Just Pizza

Iroh sprinted up the stairs to the big wooden doors and knocked. He wondered for the thousandth time if he should have called first—Asami’s phone number had been in the same place on the contract as her mailing address—then dismissed it. It was too late now. And who knows? Alerting the president of a major weapons manufacturer that she had a folder full of United Forces SITREPs, acquisitions requests, training plans, and spirits knew what else was beyond stupid. Iroh liked Asami, and more than that, he respected the hell out of her, but he couldn’t take that chance. Given she hadn’t called him, either, his only hope was that she hadn’t yet noticed the mistake.

A long moment passed. No one answered. Iroh tapped his foot, looked at his watch, and was shocked to see it was almost ten. He wasn’t sure if that meant it was too early or too late though—it felt late to him, but Asami probably wasn’t spending her Friday evening with a history book and tumbler of scotch, either. He also realized with a start that he had no idea if she even lived alone. The house he’d pulled up to on the outskirts of the city was enormous, way too big for just one person. Iroh could be waking up her parents, or her roommates, or anybody. And what if her boyfriend was here? What if he, Iroh, was interrupting something? He briefly imagined Mako opening the door in nothing but his boxers and that stupid red scarf and asking what the hell he was doing banging on his girlfriend’s door in the middle of the night.

Iroh heard talking inside and tensed. It sounded like it was getting closer, as if two people were having a conversation on the way to see who’d rung the doorbell. He braced himself, running his lines through his head. _I’m so sorry to interrupt your evening, Mrs. Sato. Hello, is Asami here? We work together and she left… Hey, Mako. Good to see you. I’ve got this…_

The door swung inward. Asami stood just inside, a phone pressed between her chin and shoulder. She was dressed in a dark red Caldera University sweatshirt and black leggings, her dark hair pulled up into a messy bun. She wore no makeup. The hand that hadn’t opened the door balanced a large glass of red wine. She didn’t look at Iroh, instead using her free hand to pull some bills out of her pocket.

“Of course he’s the asshole, Korra,” she said. “It’s always him. Hey, hang on one sec, pizza’s here.” Her eyes flicked up to his, then widened in shock. “Iroh?”

“Hi,” Iroh said. He waved the thick envelope, as if its presence made the whole situation completely obvious.

“Yes, _that_ Iroh,” Asami said sharply into the phone. “I’ll call you back.” She clicked off the phone and stowed it in her pocket along with the cash. “Sorry,” she said, a faint flush creeping up her neck. “I was expecting someone else. What are you doing here?”

“Reports,” Iroh said. _That_ Iroh? Which Iroh was he? Who was the other one? “I’m so sorry to bother, but it’s urgent.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Reports?”

“Reports,” Iroh said again. He shook his head a little, trying to clear it. “You have them. The envelopes, I think you picked up the wrong one. In my office. I have your reports. You have mine.”

Her gaze fell on the envelope in his hand. “Oh! Spirits, I’m sorry, of course. I hadn’t even looked. Come on in.”

Asami led him down a long tiled hallway, then into a large kitchen. Iroh spotted it immediately, a fat white envelope on the far table almost identical to the one he held. It had just been bad luck then. Her expression had been too surprised for him to believe she’d read any of it, either. He felt his shoulders relax a little. No prison, then.

Suddenly there was a sharp knock at the door. Asami glanced at the table, as if torn, then turned around. “One minute,” she said. “It’ll be quick. It’s just delivery. I hope.” Then she trotted off back the way they’d come. 

Iroh wandered further into the kitchen. It was enormous, practically the size of his own living room and kitchen combined. There was a big double fridge and a six burner gas stove, the kind he’d only ever seen back home and on cooking shows. Yet for all the space, not much looked used. The stove was immaculate, and there were none of the racks of spices or clusters of utensils he would have expected. There were piles of papers here and there, and Asami’s big black bag, but that was all. The only indication that anything was ever consumed here was the open bottle of wine and Asami’s single glass on the counter. Of any actual cooking there was no sign at all. 

Asami walked back in a moment later, her arms around a large pizza box. She set it on the counter next to the wine. “Sorry about that,” she said. She went and got his envelope from the table and held it out. “Here you go.” 

Iroh took it and tucked it under his arm. “And you didn’t read these?”

Asami shook her head. “I swear. I’ve got my Friday night priorities straight.” She looked pointedly at her wine and pizza box. “Obviously.”

Iroh laughed a little, suddenly feeling three times lighter now that he had the papers in hand. “Agreed. I was doing more or less the same myself. Minus the pizza, though.”

For a moment Asami looked uncertain. Then she said, “Want some?”

***

“So, you went to Caldera?” Iroh picked off another pineapple piece and put it on his plate. It was only then that he noticed his socks didn’t match. He’d left the house in a hurry.

“My little bit of rebellion,” Asami said. She shifted on the couch to fold her legs underneath her, then flashed him a wicked smile. “I went to U of R, but my father hated the Fire Nation, so of course that’s where I picked for study abroad. I had a full scholarship so he couldn’t say no. There weren’t that many female engineering students.”

“What did you think of the Fire Nation?” Iroh didn’t know if he was supposed to ask why her father hated his country or not. He took a gulp of wine instead. Seeing her so casual, so _comfortable,_ was making him profoundly uneasy. It was far too easy to imagine what it would be like for him to be comfortable, too. For them to be comfortable, and do comfortable things together. Even though they had stayed on opposite ends of the couch and hadn’t so much as touched. And weren’t going to. Touch, that was.

“I loved it,” she said without hesitation. “I still take my shrimp with fire flakes.” Asami took a sip from her own glass. Iroh’s eyes followed the faint motion of her throat as she swallowed. He took a bite of pizza. It still tasted a little funny, but at least he wasn’t going to eat any big wet fruit chunks. Though maybe he should. It might be good to focus on something disgusting.

“Fire flakes are good,” he said. He wiggled what remained of his pizza slice. “I’ll take them over pineapple any day.”

 _What are you doing, Iroh? Why are you here, on Asami Sato’s couch late at night, eating pizza you don’t even like and talking about fire flakes?_ He didn’t have a good answer. Asami was a conflict of interest. Asami had a boyfriend. Simply being in her house, let alone with a stack of classified information, was a potentially career-ending move for both of them. Yet here he was doing it anyway.

The most troubling thing was, so was she.

Asami laughed. “You’re missing out then.” Iroh’s belly tensed as she moved toward him. She leaned over and took his plate from the coffee table, then dumped the discarded pineapple chunks onto her own slice. She popped one in her mouth. “More for me.” 

Iroh swallowed hard. He tore his gaze away from her lips and instead followed the curve of her jaw to the tender joint just below her left ear. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen it before, that particular spot, which was only visible with her hair up. It looked so soft, and oddly exposed.

_Fuck._

Asami gave him a questioning look. “I don’t think we overlapped, did we?”

“Huh?” It took Iroh a moment for his brain to catch up. “No. I, er, didn’t go there.”

“Oh. Where’d you go?’

He felt a faint prickle of heat on the tips of his ears and kicked himself. Why hadn’t he dodged this? He knew he was smart, and had always been a good student, but discussions about college had a way of making him feel somehow inferior. Especially around people as obviously smart and well-educated as Asami. But there was no way out of it now. “I, um, didn’t go anywhere,” he said. “To school. Or not like that. I joined the United Forces instead. Caught up eventually, but it took a long time.”

Asami raised both eyebrows. “Wow. That’s really impressive. I can’t imagine trying to do what you do and then have school on top of it.”

Impressive. That wasn’t an answer he’d gotten before. “Um. Thanks. It was only a class or two at a time though.”

“Still.” Asami drained her glass, then uncurled her legs. She leaned forward again and snatched his empty plate before standing. “I’ll pop these in the sink.” She turned and walked back to the kitchen. His eyes followed her hungrily, drinking in the way her leggings hugged her every curve, somehow showing everything and not nearly enough. “Want a refill?” she called back.

_Go home, Iroh. Go home. Go home, go home, go home go home go home go—_

“Sure,” he heard himself say. “All right.”


	9. Dessert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, this is the chapter that bumped up the rating. Not that you didn't see this coming, right?

“I always wished I could bend,” Asami sighed. 

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” said Iroh. His standard line. “It’s a skill like any other. Like being good at math.”

She leaned back against the couch cushions and took another sip of wine. “That’s such bullshit, Iroh.”

He blinked. That wasn’t part of the script. “Excuse me?”

An amused smile tugged at the edges of her lips. “Call me when there’s a Math Nation. I’ll sign right up.”

“I don’t follow.” His head felt a little fuzzy. He wasn’t drunk, not yet, but he also had no idea where Asami was going with this. Math nation? 

Asami arched a slender eyebrow. “I went to school in the Fire Nation, remember? Firebending doesn’t just go back thousands of years; it’s an organizing principle of your whole society. The whole reason the Fire Nation exists is that the people who could bend fire all got together. Sure, not everyone is a bender, not even most people, but firebending is a part of everything anyway. Your priests are Fire Sages, your lords are Firelords. It structures your army.” She plucked at her sweatshirt. “Everything is red. Even the things that make bending work, like mental and physical discipline, they’re not just for benders. They’re cultural values there. Firebending is your shared history. I always envied that. That sense of belonging.”

Iroh stared at her, dumbfounded. He’d never heard a non-bender talk about firebending that way, the way he saw it, as something that was both a part of everything he was and yet so much bigger than himself. He wondered for the first time what that must be like, standing from the outside looking in. Asami made it sound… lonely, somehow, and not at all like being bad at math. 

She shrugged slightly. “I know not everyone feels like that. Take Mako, for example. He’s never set foot in the Fire Nation. He’s incredibly talented, but I think for him firebending really is a tool.” Asami met his eyes. “I love pro-bending, but I know it’s just a shadow of what a real classical firebender can do, and what bending represents to them. To you.”

Iroh swallowed. “And where is Mako tonight?” he made himself ask.

Asami pulled a face. “Probably drowning himself down at his brother’s bar instead of communicating with his girlfriend like a grown-ass adult.” She glanced down at her sweatshirt, then fished in her pocket and pulled out her phone. “Which reminds me, I told Korra I’d call her back. Can you give me a minute? It won’t take long, but I don’t want to leave her hanging if they’re fighting again.”

“All right.” Asami made her way back to the kitchen. Soon Iroh heard the mutter of hushed conversation. Meanwhile, his thoughts whirled. There had been no emotion on her face when she’d talked about Mako besides mild disappointment. And who was Korra? She’d almost made it sound like… but he’d seen them together, and there’s what the bartender had said besides.

Iroh heard a faint beep, then the clink of a bottle.

“Wait.” Abruptly he got to his feet, forcing himself to just start moving. He needed to leave before he said something stupid. _Did_ something stupid, rather, and more wine wasn’t going to help. “Actually, I have to get going. I didn’t realize how late it was. I’ve stayed too long already.”

“Oh,” came Asami’s voice from the kitchen. That’s all. _Oh._

Iroh made himself keep walking. It wasn’t even about his reports anymore, or about how they’d both be crucified in the press if anyone found out she’d had them, or inferred anything from their spending an evening together. It was that he couldn’t keep torturing himself. To be so close, to make Asami laugh and smile, to be within inches of her and know that it was nothing, it was all for nothing, that he could never be more than nothing to her. A starving man shown pictures of food until he simply went mad.

He strode resolutely towards the door to get his shoes. With every step he took a slow, deep breath, in the same way he did to focus before firebending. It was better now that he was moving, that he’d decided to act. He was going to go home, deal with whatever needed dealing with, and go to bed. Iroh was no stranger to taking care of his own needs. Maybe have another scotch. Tomorrow he’d call Opal, see if she wanted to get together, and—

Asami stepped out into the hallway, a thick white envelope clutched to her chest. “Don’t forget these,” she said. A faint smile ghosted her lips, but her eyes seemed sad. “I made sure they’re the right ones. I can’t have you showing up on my doorstep again.”

“Wait, did you read them?” Iroh gasped, striding forward and snatching the papers out of her hand, too flustered and embarrassed to admit that he’d almost forgotten them. Suddenly it felt like their first date all over again, that silly lunch from Matchmaker!, with him so awkward and scared he’d practically bolted. _Had_ bolted, actually. Spirits, if only he’d kept going, just kept running and never looked back. 

“Don’t have a heart attack,” Asami chided as he checked the contents. UNITED FORCES FIREBENDER TRAINING PLAN R3.45 read the top sheet. It was enough for him. “I still didn’t read them. I remembered where you left them, then checked the other envelope. I know what confidential means, Iroh.”

“Like you know what conflict of interest means?” 

Asami’s smile vanished as if he’d slapped it off her face. Her neck flushed crimson as two bright spots of color appeared high on her cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” Iroh said quickly. He didn’t know why he’d said it. He was just so frustrated. But he knew it wasn’t fair. She may have invited him in, but he was the one who had stayed.

Asami slowly shook her head. “No, you’re right,” she said softly. “I’m the one who should apologize. I’m sorry if I put you in an awkward situation. I didn’t mean to.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” he said. “And thank you for the pizza.”

She tipped her face up to his. He noticed a single black curl had fallen loose from her bun to rest against her cheek. Iroh suddenly wanted nothing more in the world than to touch it, to let it slide slowly through his fingers to see if it was as smooth and as soft as it looked. 

Asami’s lips curved into a small smile. “Thank you for staying a little anyway. I had a nice time, Iroh.”

“I finally got you to have dinner with me,” he said quietly.

Asami laughed a little. She rested her hand lightly on his arm, her green eyes never leaving his. “I suppose you did.”

Iroh’s throat suddenly felt dry. Slowly, almost against his will, he reached up and fingered the errant curl. Asami’s eyes widened a little, then closed, her dark lashes standing out against her pale skin. She didn’t pull away. He tucked the strand of hair safely behind her ear, letting his thumb drag slowly across her cheek. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. Then he curled his fingers gently behind her head, leaned down, and kissed her softly on the mouth. Asami pressed her whole body to him in response, molding herself against him. Her lips were soft against his own, but eager, their motions mirroring his own desire. Her arms snaked around his back, pulling him close, deepening the kiss into something so passionate it was almost difficult to breathe. Iroh had never been kissed like this, never, he hadn't even known kisses like this existed, and all he could think was _this is not happening this is not happening._

Asami bit his lower lip gently as they finally broke apart. “We can't do this,” she whispered. Her eyes were huge. 

“Tell me to stop,” Iroh panted, sucking in air. It was his last hope. He let his hands slide down to her waist. “Please, tell me to stop.” 

Asami said nothing. Instead he felt her fingers trail up his back to his neck. Then she pulled him down, and it was so different from Opal’s kisses, Asami _wanted_ him, he could feel it, wanted him with as much fire as he wanted her. Maybe it should have been a contest, but it wasn’t. Iroh was a firebender. Spirits help him, he’d pick fire every time. He felt his head go fuzzy as every nerve in his body responded, his mouth devouring hers, tasting her lips and the wine and a faint sweetness that might have been pineapple.

He pushed her up against the wall of the hallway, pinning her with his body, crushing her lips with his own as his envelope of reports fell to the floor, unheeded. Their hips pressed together and Iroh bit back a groan. He could feel her hands under his shirt now, sliding up his back, her nails dragging delicate furrows across his skin that sent electric shocks straight to his groin. Iroh ran one hand over her slender hip in response, then up under her sweatshirt and the thin cotton beneath. Asami’s skin felt cool beneath his fingers. He slid his hand up her flat stomach, drinking her in, and all the while she was kissing him, her own fingers exploring his arms, his back, the sensitive skin just above his belt. 

Iroh trailed his mouth down her jaw until he found the vulnerable place just below her ear. It was just as soft and secret as it had looked, and for some reason he got the idea that he was the only one who knew about it, and who’d thought it needed kissing. Asami shuddered as he pressed his lips to it. He gave it a soft, experimental bite and she made a little noise in the back of her throat. The sound alone made Iroh’s hips buck slightly against her and he half expected Asami to finally tell him to stop, to stop before they both couldn’t, but she didn’t.

“Upstairs,” she breathed into his ear. “Iroh, take me upstairs.”


	10. Stay With Me and Pretend

Iroh sank into the single big leather chair facing the desk. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“That’s why they pay me, General,” said Hartok. The United Forces’ Judge Advocate General was a short man in his middle years, with a blunt, square face and deep hazel skin. He still wore his graying hair in the traditional three long tails of high-ranking Water Tribe men, and the bright blue eyes behind his glasses were sharp and intelligent. Iroh had known him for years, the last ten of them as fairly close friends, which was of course the only reason he’d been able to get this appointment on short notice. He didn’t pull rank often, but when he did he made it count.

“I have a… a hypothetical question of a somewhat serious nature,” he began. 

Hartok cocked his head slightly. “I’m going to stop you right there. If you’ve done anything illegal, don’t tell me. I’m not your attorney, and if I’m asked to testify I’ll tell the truth.”

“No,” Iroh said quickly. “Nothing like that. I promise.”

The judge knit his dark hands together on top of the desk. “All right. Shoot.” 

Iroh took a deep breath, then started again. “Suppose… hypothetically, remember… that someone in a position of influence at the United Forces wanted to pursue a relationship with a vendor. I’d like to know the legal implications of that.” 

“A sexual relationship, I assume?” 

Iroh resisted the nearly overpowering temptation to look anywhere but at Hartok’s face. “A, um, romantic relationship. Yes.”

Hartok leaned back in his chair with a faint squeak and shook his head. “I’d need more details than that. Which positions? How much influence?”

“Well…” Iroh struggled to find a suitable analogy and failed. “Say it’s a top general.”

The older man nodded slowly, raising an eyebrow. “A position rather like yours, then?”

He hesitated for a moment. “Yes.”

“And the vendor?”

“The CEO.” 

Hartok’s eyes narrowed. “The CEO. And how big a vendor are we talking about? Are we talking about something like, say, Narook’s Catering Company, or…”

“Future Industries,” Iroh said quietly. 

“The CEO of Future Industries.” Hartok made a low whistle. “Shit.” He lifted his glasses to rub quickly at his face, then looked at Iroh. “This is only hypothetical though, right?”

_Asami's back was to him in the darkness, her pale skin barely visible against the ivory sheets. Iroh's fingers twirled absently in the ends of her hair as he listened to her soft breathing. He thought he could stay awake all night, simply watching her sleep, but of course he hadn’t. Instead, she woke him with a kiss._

“Hypothetical,” he said. “Of course.”

“Good. Because it’s bad news.” The judge shook his head again. “It would be different if this… this particular general were in another part of the organization, or on active deployment and not involved in anything to do with acquisitions. But if you’re talking about a position like yours, here in Republic City, with the kinds of responsibilities you have and working hand-in-hand with Tin Hua besides, the answer is simply no. It can’t happen.” Hartok’s brilliant blue eyes met his. “Fuck, Iroh, you’re right under Raiko. It’s not only technically prohibited, but any appearance of wrongdoing or favoritism is a reputational risk that the United Forces is not willing to take. Legal rules aside, if a relationship such as this existed and was discovered, the general in question would be asked to resign. I would hope being asked is all that was needed.”

Iroh looked at his knees. He hadn’t really expected anything different. 

_“Nothing has changed,” Asami said. Her hands tightened around her teacup._

_“Asami, everything has changed.” But she was already shaking her head._

_“Not for us, Iroh. Between us, yes, but not_ for _us.”_

“And would this… this person have any other options?” Iroh asked. “Anything creative they might not think of, that a good friend on the United Forces legal team would know?”

Hartok looked at his hands. “I’m sorry, Iroh. I wish there was. You know I do. But the options are simple: the general deploys, one of them resigns, or they don’t do it. As both a member of the United Forces legal team and your good friend, I strongly recommend option three.”

_“There has to be something,” Iroh said. “This is our life. We can’t just… all those stupid dates this year, I know how rare this is. It’s always been you. Don’t tell me you don’t feel that. I wouldn’t be here this morning if you didn’t.”_

_“So you’re going to quit? After everything you’ve worked for? Or are you asking me to?”_

_Iroh stared at his half-eaten toast. He didn’t answer._

Iroh stood. “Thanks, Hartok,” he said. He almost meant it, too. He turned to go.

“And Iroh. I’d be very careful who you ask about this scenario. You have my confidence, but if this were anything other than hypothetical I’d be obligated to act, friend or no. You understand that, right?”

_“Stay with me,” Asami said suddenly._

_Iroh looked up. “How? I thought you said nothing changed?”_

_“No one knows you’re here. The estate is huge, we have everything we need. We can’t… you know we can’t. Long-term. So stay. Stay the weekend with me and pretend we live this life.” She pressed her lips together. “On Monday, it never happened. You understand that, right?”_

Iroh nodded. “I understand.”


	11. As If There Ever Was A You

Iroh looked up at the door chime, the same as he had half a dozen times over the last half hour, but it wasn’t her. He’d come to the little breakfast place on 3rd ave early, not realizing that he was using the same tactics he would in a battle until he’d already seated himself three booths in, facing the door. Arrive in advance, study the terrain, take the high ground, plan your retreat. In his experience, love and war employed a lot of the same strategies. Not that this was love.

The chime sounded again. _Ah, here we go._

Opal slid into the booth opposite him, a nervous smile on her face. She folded her delicate fingers on the table and didn’t take off her jacket. She hadn’t ordered anything at the counter, either. Then again, Iroh had only gotten tea. He was many things, but he didn’t think stupid was one of them, and he’d always been good at reading people. He knew what this was; it would be quick. No one was eating breakfast today. 

“Have you been waiting long?” she asked. No hello, no kiss, not even a swift one on the cheek to pretend. All in all, Iroh appreciated that. He’d never understood the part of a battle where the parties ride out under a white flag of truce, tell each other to surrender just for show, then ride back. The fact that Opal wasn’t the type to surrender was one of the things he genuinely liked about her. And Iroh himself did very little for show. Especially these days.

“Not long.” Iroh sipped his tea. It was nice, a strong red he’d ordered because he’d been feeling a bit run down. The last few months of late nights and weekends at the office were finally catching up with him. 

Opal glanced briefly at her hands before meeting his eyes. She looked more apprehensive than sad, which Iroh thought was probably pretty accurate. It wasn’t about how she felt, but about how he’d take it. She’d already moved on. She probably had months ago.

He sighed a little. They needed to get this over with. “Look, Opal—”

She shook her head sharply. “Before you say anything, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“All right.” Iroh took another sip of tea, waiting.

“I’ve… I really like you, Iroh. You’re smart, and mature, and interesting. I’ve never been treated so much like a lady. These last seven months have been really special.”

Iroh smiled a little. “I’m sensing there’s a but?”

Opal looked at her hands again. “But I don’t think I’m ready for someone so serious. You work all the time, way more than when I met you, and for a long time you’ve been distant. I know we want the same things, but think we’re in different places. And… and I’ve met somebody else. We just… I’m sorry, Iroh. I really am.” 

The last part was a surprise. He supposed it shouldn’t be though. He’d thrown himself into work as a distraction, and over the past few months he’d been less and less available, and less and less himself when he was. Iroh knew he was drinking too much, too—not enough to be a problem, but a lot more than he usually did. He’d tried to make things work with Opal after he and Asami had gone their separate ways, but if she’d finally gone looking for someone more fun and convenient, he could hardly blame her. Spirits, he probably wouldn’t date himself now, either. 

Iroh thought of the weekend he and Asami had spent together at her house almost half a year ago, simply living. At some point he’d tried to make her hotcakes, the proper Fire Nation kind that can only be made by gently firebending the pastries by hand. She’d come up behind him and wrapped her arms around his chest, kissing his shoulders and the back of his neck while he worked, both his hands so covered in dough he couldn’t do anything but stand there and take it. In that moment Iroh had believed her, believed the lie so thoroughly he might have looked for his own shirts in her closet. And no matter how much pain it had caused him since, he knew wouldn’t have traded that moment for the world.

Iroh reached out across the table and took Opal’s hand. “We can’t help who we fall in love with,” he said. “Go be happy. I’ll be okay.”

***

“Introducing our first team, the Red Sands Rabaroos!” shouted the announcer. “And their opponents, the White Falls Wolfbats!” 

“I can’t believe you roped me into this,” Iroh grumbled. He popped another piece of slightly stale, overpriced popcorn into his mouth. 

Hartok only laughed. “I’m not letting you drag me down, Iroh. These games are fun. Especially the Wolfbats.” He removed his glasses and started polishing them on the hem of his shirt with a grin. “They cheat worse than a waterbender at a swim meet, and no one gives a damn. Not only that, the crowd loves it. It’s part of the show.” He replaced his glasses, then reached over and took the popcorn. 

Iroh stared glumly at the center of the arena. Two teams with three players each squared off, one in red and the other in tan. He really didn’t understand why Hartok of all people, who’d dedicated his life to the law, wanted to come see a bunch of young hotshots cheat their way to the pro-bending championship. But ultimately he hadn’t had a good excuse to say no. He knew he was working too much, and while he had no urge to do anything like Matchmaker! again, a part of him knew that spending time doing something social somewhere that wasn’t his office or his apartment was good for him. He suspected Hartok knew this as well, and had used the extra-ticket-going-to-waste ploy on purpose. Iroh glanced at the older man to his right and felt the unfamiliar pull of a smile. Thank the spirits for friends who were smarter than you were, and sneaky besides.

“And, they’re off!” blared the speakers. “What an explosive start. Wait, was that an ice dagger! But the refs aren’t calling it. There’s no fouls in this game, folks. And the Wolfbats advance and are holding nothing back. Tahno strikes, Adi dodges. Nice sprawl there by Ula. The Rabaroos are really—oh _ho!_ That looked like a headshot by Ming, but again, no one’s called it.”

Hartok cheered. One of the Rabaroos, their waterbender, had been knocked off the edge into the water. She hit with an oddly satisfying splash and the arena erupted into sound. Iroh felt his smile widen a little. Maybe there _was_ something to pro-bending. He found himself paying more attention to the game, almost against his will. As a lifelong student of firebending he’d always dismissed it, almost on principle, but as he watched now he saw a lot to admire. It may not be as elegant or as versatile as Iroh’s own style of bending, but he also knew how hard it was to keep up the kind of hard, fast throws that the game’s firebenders relied on. 

Adi took a rock to the chest and was tossed off the edge. Iroh put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. In retrospect, that had really been a terrible date. He snatched the popcorn back from Hartok.

“Round one, _Wolfbats!”_ shouted the announcer. The arena went mad, everyone stamping and cheering and screaming and not a small number booing as well. The players started to reset and Iroh felt his attention drift. He scanned the crowd, briefly wondering who all these lunatics were who paid good money to watch this. It turned out that the answer was everyone. It seemed like all of Republic City had turned out for the game. There was no discernable pattern. People young and old, and from every ethnic background that Iroh knew all jammed the stands, jumping and hollering. Suddenly, he was glad he’d agreed to come. Maybe he’d never be pro-bending’s biggest fan, but the energy was infectious. One couldn’t help feeling a part of something here.

Suddenly Iroh’s eyes caught on a bright piece of cloth. It quickly resolved itself into a scarf. He recognized it, of course. Mako seemed to wear it everywhere. He was standing in what looked like a premium box across the arena. Next to him was a young woman dressed all in blue and of obvious Water Tribe heritage. At first Iroh thought she was cheering, but as he looked closer he saw she was screaming, waving and pointing an angry finger in the direction of the White Falls team. As he watched she turned back to Mako, shouting at him and gesticulating wildly, before turning back to the center of the arena. Next to her stood a stocky, square-faced young man in a dark green vest. He was also yelling at the Wolfbats, though not with quite as much fervor. It took Iroh a moment to place him, then he got it. Bolin, the bartender from Team Avabar. He’d said he and Mako were brothers and teammates. And to Bolin’s left was, of all people, Opal. 

_I’ve met somebody else._

Iroh almost laughed. She didn’t say how long ago, had she? Well, good for her. It had been long enough that even the faint sting of the breakup had faded entirely. If Opal wanted to date someone who didn’t know what hot tea was, she was welcome to him. If anything, it made it all the more reasonable it hadn’t worked out between them.

His gaze drifted past Opal to the last person in the box; a tall, slender woman with jet black hair. She was dressed casually in black pants and a red Fire Ferrets tee, her hands braced against the railing.

Iroh’s heart stopped in his chest as everything else in the arena faded.

He hadn’t seen Asami in almost a year. After the United Forces had finally struck the deal with Future Industries, there’d been no need for her to come around his office, and for his part he’d avoided anywhere he’d thought it likely she’d turn up. He knew he’d made the right decision, they both had, but that hadn’t made the thought of seeing her any less painful. 

Asami stood a little off by herself. Though she was clearly watching the game, she didn’t seem nearly as animated as her friends. She was too far for Iroh to read the expression on her face. 

The announcer’s voice seemed far away. “With the Rabaroos down one round they'll need a strong second to win, and with the way the Wolfbats are cheating—did I say cheating? I meant playing—I don't see that happening.” 

Iroh felt a tap on his shoulder. “Are you even watching?” He turned back to Hartok, who promptly rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Iroh, this is a riveting game. I refuse to let you leave Republic City without hooking you on pro-bending, but sometimes I think you’re truly hopeless.” His gaze traveled to where Iroh had been looking. His eyebrows knit together behind his thick glasses. Then his expression softened. “Still?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Iroh handed him the popcorn. Suddenly he had to be anywhere but under that pitying stare. “I need a beer. Want one?”

Hartok nodded, saying nothing.


	12. A New Beginning

The buildings of Republic City faded into the thick fog as the battleship pulled slowly into Yue Bay. Their edges blurred, becoming indistinct shapes as their colors bled out, leaving nothing but shadows. Then they were gone. 

Iroh braced his arms against the port-side railing, letting the crosswind whip at his hair and jacket. He watched until the United Republic of Nations was nothing but a flat, uniform gray wall of fog, then abruptly turned his back on the land. In a strange way, watching the shoreline fade away felt like an enormous weight lifting from his shoulders. No one had come to see him off at the docks to the south of the city, and he hadn’t expected them to. Iroh had already said all of his goodbyes. 

He strode down the deck of his battleship, relishing the familiar the smell of the cold salt air. The pennants of the United Forces fluttered and snapped above him. Being back at sea would take some getting used to, but Iroh would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little excited. He’d done what he came to do in Republic City; done it well. It was work he could be proud of, and was. Now he was moving on. That sense of completion, of a task well done, gave him a kind of energy he suddenly realized he’d been missing. It was time for a new beginning, a new mission. Anything could happen. Anything at all. The idea was oddly thrilling. 

And if the port-side railing also happened to face south Republic City, what of it? The elegant gray towers of Future Industries' headquarters had faded away under Iroh’s steady gaze the same as everything else.

***

It was raining hard when the fleet docked in Gaoling. Iroh stared morosely out the window of the command center, silently at war with himself. On the one hand, he was extremely hungry, and three weeks of dining in the officer’s wardroom made him profoundly interested in eating dinner nearly anywhere else. On the other hand, it was very wet, and Iroh found himself once again without an umbrella. It was considerably warmer in Gaoling than in Republic City, and apparently everyone except him had known that in early spring it rained nearly every day and had outfitted themselves accordingly. Iroh himself didn’t own so much as a hat, let alone any real wet weather gear. Any adventure into the city tonight would leave him soaked in minutes. 

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered darkly. He had no one but himself to blame, and if he didn’t make a decision soon he’d lose the light altogether. Iroh ran his hand through his hair, then stood up a little straighter, stiffening his resolve. He was a general, a leader of men. He’d spent many a worse night bivouacked in the soaking mud or blasted by howling gales; he was not to be put off by a little city rain. It was just water. He’d tackle the problem head on and make getting an umbrella his first stop. Iroh was to be based in Gaoling for the next two years, and though unlike his assignment in Republic City he’d be spending some of that time on the water instead of pushing papers uphill, if his lieutenants were to be believed he was probably in for a good deal of rain both places. If his first trip into town was a little uncomfortable, so be it. Perhaps it would teach him to finally check the weather before he packed. Iroh had no idea where to buy an umbrella in Gaoling, but in his experience when a few battleships pulled into port the merchants came to you. If no one was selling them on the docks he’d count himself surprised. 

The city loomed before him in the gathering darkness. The port wasn’t actually all that close to the city proper, but a number of satobus lines and a fat yellow tram ran downtown at fairly regular intervals. Iroh turned up the collar of his uniform jacket, shoved both hands deep in his pockets, and strode resolutely out onto the deck towards the gangplank. The rain hit him like a lukewarm shower, but it wasn’t as bad as it had looked from indoors. He’d still get wet, but even if he couldn’t find a shop he could probably get indoors somewhere before he was soaked to the skin. He glanced around as he hit the wood of the pier, looking for anyone who might be hawking supplies to the sailors before heading to the tram.

“General,” called a woman’s voice behind him. He turned to see a lone black umbrella under the eaves of the Peninsula Ferry ticket counter. Underneath stood a figure in a long purple raincoat. The umbrella hid her face; yet it was clear from her clothing that she wasn’t United Forces. Iroh wasn’t aware that he knew anyone in Gaoling though. Yet there was no one else near her, and he was certainly the only person on the dock who could reasonably be expected to answer to “general.” He walked over slowly, carefully holding some tension in his chest in case he had to firebend quickly. Iroh didn’t think someone would be so bold as to try to pick off a lone officer ten feet from his ship, especially if they already knew his rank, but kidnappings for ransom weren’t unheard of in the south and his family certainly had the money. One couldn’t be too careful, especially in a new place.

“May I help you?” he said as he approached.

The woman tilted back the umbrella. Two bright green eyes framed by heavy lashes looked up at him out of a pale, tired face. Long jet black hair fell loose around her shoulders, the thick curls hanging limp and damp from the wet, but Iroh knew they would still be soft and smooth between his fingers. He froze, mid-step. It couldn’t be.

The corners of Asami’s mouth turned up slightly. Her lips were painted the color of purpleberry jam. “Still no umbrella?” she asked.

Iroh just stood there. Surely he must be dreaming. Gaoling was a thousand miles from Republic City. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, suddenly lost.

Asami walked slowly forwards, lifting her umbrella until it covered both of them. “I almost thought you weren’t coming,” she said quietly. 

“Were we meeting here?” He couldn’t think of anything better to say. 

“No. But what if we did anyway?”

Iroh shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

Asami reached up and brushed the wet hair off his forehead. “Iroh.” That was it. Just his name, and that gentle caress. 

He felt himself stiffen at the touch, every nerve in his body suddenly on fire. “Why are you doing this to me?” he choked, pulling his gaze away from her eyes. “It took me a year… I won’t do it. I can’t… I don’t think I can get over you again.” He stared off down the rain-soaked docks. He couldn’t look at her, yet he couldn’t bring himself to walk away. “Please, Asami. If you ever felt anything for me, please go.”

He felt her fingers skim his. “I will, if you can answer two questions honestly.”

Iroh nodded. Anything.

“Does your assignment in Gaoling have anything to do with the acquisition of heavy mecha?”

He shook his head. He was in command of the entire southern fleet now. There wasn’t an active conflict, but it was a combat deployment nonetheless. He could send equipment requests to headquarters and probably get half of it, but that was all. Iroh stopped. But that meant...

“And did you?” Asami asked. He pulled his gaze back to her face, his thoughts reeling. She looked damp and exhausted and tense, and yet to him she’d never seemed more beautiful. 

“Did I what?” 

“Get over me.”

Iroh reached up, fingered one of the strands of hair that framed her face, and gave the only answer he could. “No.”

To his surprise Asami stepped back, then held out her hand. “May I start over? Hello, I’m Asami Sato, CEO of Future Industries. It’s nice to meet you. I’m considering working out of Gaoling for a few years while I set up our first Earth Kingdom facility. Perhaps we can get lunch sometime? If you’re willing.” She gave him a searching look, as if trying to read his reaction. Then she added, “I don’t see any reason why we can’t. Neither can your friend Judge Hartok. He… he came to see me after you left, you see, and… and...” She trailed off, her green eyes steady and scared.

Iroh considered the offered hand. He didn’t move and saw Asami’s face begin to crumple. Then he lunged forward and pulled her into a fierce hug. It was an amazing feeling, simply holding her, feeling her weight suddenly against him. Asami pressed her hot face into his neck as she flung her arms around him. The handle of the umbrella dug hard into his back. He buried his face in her hair, his nose filling with the scent of rain and faint perfume. 

Iroh pressed his lips to the delicate shell of her ear. “Have dinner with me,” he whispered. “Have dinner with me tonight, and every night.”

He felt her sob against his neck as she squeezed him tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like how this ended -- few details on how they are going to make this work long-term, but a sense that they do anyway. Hopefully Ever After. It might not be as buttoned-up as some other endings could have been, but it felt more realistic to me. Hope you liked it, too.


End file.
